


The Cloak of Winter

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Multi, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-05-16 23:21:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14820845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: A prince is more than his title, or so Rhaegar Targaryen thinks upon renouncing his claim to future kingship.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically this takes the what-if scenario of Lyanna being the last Stark and Rhaegar giving up the crown.

“This cannot be borne.” Rhaegar did not glance up from his book. Jon’s passion, gratifying as it was, would offer him no great help. It was preferable nevertheless to anything his good lady mother had to say upon the matter. “Your Grace, you must not back away. His Majesty must be made to see the truth.”

Hilariously enough, such behaviour could only work against him before his father. Rhaegar saw the wisdom of allowing the other man to vent. Jon remained one of his staunchest allies even when the grim reality set before him pushed towards a more self-serving path.

The Knight of Skulls and Kisses, however, was less empathic about the matter. Richard leaned against the table, easily towering over Rhaegar in their current position. “What aren’t you telling us?” he demanded

“What is there to say?” he replied in a mellower tone. Famed for his chivalry though he be, Richard had his failings. The fiery temper the foremost of them, should anyone ask Rhaegar. “The man refused categorically to hear our words.”

“And you sit here as though naught is amiss. Explain it for me, Your Grace, for I fear my wits have gone abegging.” Dark eyes glinted with a hint of impatience and Richard, as was his wont, straightened. “How can you remain so calm?”

“His refusal came in full view of the court.” Quelling as the moment had been, Rhaegar had not omitted the possibility that even his best laid plans could meet insurmountable obstacles. “Short of mounting a rebellion against my lawful King, there is nothing I can do to change the facts of the matter. Not as long as I am in this position.”

“What are you saying?” That was Jon whose attention had returned to the present.

“Merely that where there is no pain there cannot be any gain. I have reached a decision of some importance and I feel the two of you should be the first to hear it.” He saw fear and worry reflect in their gazes, but ruthlessly pushed his misgivings aside. What was done was done. “On the morrow, I am renouncing my claim to the Iron Throne.”    

“Merely that where there is no pain there cannot be any gain. I have reached a decision of some importance and I feel the two of you should be the first to hear it.” He saw fear and worry reflect in their gazes, but ruthlessly pushed his misgivings aside. What was done was done. “On the morrow, I am renouncing my claim to the Iron Throne.”     

An aghast grasp filled the relative silence hanging heavily upon the chamber in the wake of the reveal. Rhaegar, having anticipated and even gambled upon such a reaction, allowed himself a moment of triumphant joy. One step ahead and with none the wiser, he was fair certain his success was assured. Victorious even in defeat. If he were prone to visible displays jubilation it might have been easier a thing to spot. “For brother to take up arms against brother and son to oppose his own father is unthinkable. And so, my hands are tied.” 

“You would allow a tyrant upon the throne simply to avoid conflict?” Thick disappointment coated Jon’s words, seeping into Rhaegar’s very marrow, by nature meant to leave a strong impression. “Betray everything we have worked for.”

“Cast not judgement lest you too shall be judged.” Although by that logic he was simply collecting upon long undue debts.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've no idea if someone has done this before. With my luck, they totally have. Anyway, hope you enjoyed.


	2. I.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You must reconsider,” his lady mother burst after a brief choking silence. “Return to your father and tell him you have changed your mind.” Were he yet in leading strings, Rhaegar was fairly certain he might have listened. As matters stood, he poured himself some wine, careful to avoid the woman’s piercing gaze. “This is not worth it, Rhaegar.”

“On the contrary. It very much is.” He took a sip of his wine, deliberately slow. The cup found its way onto the top of the table a second time. “Alyn Farring has too long plagued these halls. If my lord father refuses to look into the man’s affairs as he ought to then I must retaliate.” He heard a garbled sound and put it down to the momentary fury he saw the woman’s face.

Stomping her way closer, Rhaella demanded further explanation. “How can you risk your position for such a small matter. Alyn Farring will have outstayed his welcome sooner or later.” She continued in the same vein briefly before her voice dropped. “Is this what you are risking your position for?”

It was as good as any other excuse, Rhaegar imagined. “Is it not rather saddening to live one’s life as an enemy to one’s sire? I’ve no wish to battle my will against his anymore than is reasonable. And since His Majesty cannot trust me, I cannot in good conscience continue by his side.” Aside from which, he had no desire to be burned to a crisp.

“He trusts no one,” his mother pointed out evenly, the fire leeching out of her. She reached out for him, her hands settling on his shoulders. Rhaegar saw the thin red lines snaking their way along the flesh of her arms. “And I doubt he ever shall again. That should not weigh with your decision. You do not cut the nose to spite the face.”

Having long since abandoned any hope of ever pleasing his father in an even remote sense of the word, Rhaegar acknowledged his mother’s point on the pure basis of logical sense. He nonetheless did not think about renouncing his claim on the Iron Throne as cutting anything off, but rather allowing himself more leeway. “It matters to me. I cannot compromise on this.” Her shoulders slumped. “Lady mother, you mustn’t despair. One must know one’s limits and act in accordance to them instead of pushing fruitlessly at boundaries that cannot be changed.” It would be a lie to claim he had no qualms about the plan. He had, however, begun upon the path and turning back was unconscionable.

“And what will you do for the rest of your life? You, whom we’ve raised to someday rule.” He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. Leave it to his mother to pick up on the more pressing of issues.

“I imagine whatever princes who do not get to rule do. Wed a maiden, raise a family. That manner of thing, lady mother. On a note of more immediacy, however, I plan to make for the Wall. Some time away from all this madness is bound to do me good.” She gave him a long look. “You disagree?”

She couldn’t. At least not without bringing some solid arguments against it, as Rhaegar was no longer chained to either his father’s court or Dragonstone. “You would leave the burden of Dragonstone on the shoulders of a babe, a child who knows naught of what is expected of him. “

“Dragonstone has a perfectly capable maester and a most able castellan to see to its running. I imagine Viserys will see little glimpse of it before he reaches the age of majority, lady mother. But if I must put it into words, very well, I am perfectly willing to leave the burden of Dragonstone to my brother.” His mother flinched and Rhaegar softened his tone for her benefit. “Someone will have to take the burden in any event and might be Viserys will be better able to please my father in this than I ever was. For myself, I have decided to gracefully accept my defeat.” The raven had already left for the Wall in any event and he suspected Aemon would be only too glad to have him.

Dismayed, the woman put some much needed distance between them, allowing herself to fall back into an empty chair. “All this sounds rather like you haven’t thought it through. You will come to regret giving up your birthright and by the time the realisation hits you, it will be much too late.” She twisted the fabric of her skirts around her fingers, gripping at the folds until her knuckled turned white.

“Were my birthright a source of anything other than grief, I expect you would be quite correct.” He sat down as well, picking up his cup for a second time. He turned it round and round between his hands, not particularly paying mind to the liquid swirling within, coming dangerously close to the rim. “You mustn’t pity me now, lady mother, for I leave with a light enough heart.” Would that he might say the same about her. She ought to understand matters were never quite as simple as they seemed.

Tears burst forth from her eyes. Not bothering to hide her reaction or even mute it in any manner, she wailed at his apparent lack of filial concern, her musings torn from her throat in heaving, shuddering breaths. The momentary regret permeating his thoughts gave him pause. For just a brief moment that was. He knew tears would be coming, thus he had prepared himself accordingly. Rhaegar closed his eyes, counting in his mind until he felt he might face the undesired outcome. He left his seat slowly.  

And then he proceeded to calm his lady mother in the best way that he knew how. Rhaegar was, as he imagined all to be, inordinately fond of his parents in spite of their many foibles and shortcomings. Had he not been, he imagined judging them as harshly as he did would not quite have such a power behind its punch. “Lady mother, this shall be to the benefit of us all. We need quarrel no longer. It can all be as it was before.” Not that before was much better than what was, but Rhaegar imagined she preferred it to her current predicament.

The sobs quietened to occasional sniffles. “You may believe that, if it helps,” she replied, her tone somewhat spiteful. Rhaegar did not hold it against her in the least. He’d been aware she would react within the bounds of grief and anger. He imagined losing the little support she yet had before his father did not sit well with her. Alas, it was needed. He rubbed her back gently, keeping silent as the reminder of her tears dried. There was little else he could say in the face of her reaction.

And in the end, silence was the best he could afford as no words surfaced which might lessen her discomfort. After a time, she glanced up, wide eyes pinning him to the spot and her lips trembled in preparation of speech. “Tell me, how long do you hope to stay with Aemon? The poor man cannot be expected to take on permanent expenses.”

“Not as long as you imagine. I hope to stay an entire turn or so, if the Lord Commander finds it acceptable. If not, I shall find accommodations, have no fear.” He waited a moment before broaching a subject of greater interest. “I was wondering, however, if you might tell me where I can find the old dragon eggs.”

“I beg your pardon?” Naturally, Rhaegar already had his own, which he kept in his own chamber, safely locked away. In his childhood days, however, he’d been shown a collection of long fossilised eggs which had belonged to he knew not whom. “Why would you have any need of those?”

“To study. I wrote to the good maester that I might bring one of those to see if he could glean any sort of knowledge from it.” His explanation was not satisfactory if he were to guide himself after his mother’s expression. He pressed on nevertheless. “They have none at the Wall and I would not bring mine. There is some danger I wish to avoid. Not to mention no one shall miss one of the fossilised ones as long as I return it in good time.”

“To whom do you think you speak right now?” He had not anticipated resistance, but he repeated himself, hoping that would suffice. “Simply tell me honestly what you plan to do and you may be assured of my cooperation.” A sigh left his lips.

“Very well, we plan to repeat the hatching ritual, but on a greatly reduced scale.” She grasped and gave a weak protest, but Rhaegar cut in before she got too far into it. “Naturally we do not hope to hatch the eggs. That should be nigh impossible. However, I am hoping to observe a properly carried out ritual without the distraction of a burning keep.”

“That is much too dangerous.” In spite of having rarely if ever spoken of his nameday, Rhaegar imagined his lady mother was more than aware of the dangers the ritual posted. At the same time, he could not give up his plan. And if he needed to sneak about the keep and take her dragon egg instead of an old fossilised one, he would. But he would truly rather not. “And that old reprobate ought not to encourage you.”

“On the contrary, lady mother; ‘twas I who begged for his assistance. I firmly believe much can be gained by a careful study of this matter.” He continued with that line of thought, assuring her there would be little danger. “Might be there is aught to be gained by this.”

His lady mother continued resisting for some time, giving Rhaegar some grief before she finally deflated. “Very well. I shall bring you one. But you must promise me here and now that you won’t attempt anything foolish. Nothing beyond discussing the steps of the ritual, mind.”

He might have let her know then and there that he fully planned to see the whole thing through and damn the consequences. But he would rather have two eggs to practice on rather than one. Thus he nodded along to her wishes and pretended compliance. She did not need to know, after all, that he had long since discussed the steps of the ritual at great lengths with the maester and that both of them had attempted to work around the limitations of it in order to ensure maximum safety in another attempt. Unfortunately, without having full knowledge of what had gone wrong at Summerhal in spite of his frequent visits to the ruins, he had only so much to go on.

The Queen did not sit with him long after their conversation, preferring some time on her own, in which, he presumed, to make her peace with the outcome of his gamble. For his own part, Rhaegar saw himself to his own chamber, intent on making the most superficial of preparations, securing his own egg under the false bottom of a large travelling chest. The other, he decided, he would simply place in plain sight. Seeing that he did not have much to do, in truth, he merely concluded the more pressing of the arrangements before settling by the high lancet in his window seat so he might do some reading.

The spill of words upon the page gave him something other than his own problems to concentrate upon, for which he was thankful. He’d been contemplating his course of action for much too long and the relief of having carried through with it felt a rather lot like pain. The distraction, he reminded himself, forcing his attention to the strings of letters written in a small neat hand. Before long he was absorbed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Still and all, Your Grace,” Arthur continued with his ceaseless complaints, “would it not have been better to delay?” Rhaegar slanted him a look. But his long time friend was much too busy glaring at the swirling snow with a look of disgust. “A man can’t take a piss without fearing his cock falling off.”

“No one demanded you drink your weight in wine,” he reminded Arthur, half amused at the weakness he showed in the face of a few snowflakes. “Truly, I ought to have taken Ser Oswell with me. He would not have so many bitter complaints about things one cannot change.”

“Aye, he would instead complain about his grave being icy,” his companion snorted. “I cannot see what you have against comfort, Your Grace. We might at least have waited for these blasted winds to die down.” He swore as another gust of wind attempted to unhorse him or at least steal his cape. “At times I do wonder at your fortitude.”

“Never fear, my friend, ‘tis mere folly that pushes me forth.” He tugged on the reins of his horse as the beast stepped upon a patch of particularly slippery-looking ice. “But I reckon you’ll find the Wall all the more tolerable for all your current suffering.”

“I’d be willing to name the next hovel I see a palace as long as we could take shelter.” Again he glared at the falling snow and Rhaegar entertained the notion of making for shelter. After all, the knight had a valid point. The storm was growing worse and they’d been riding for quite a while.

“I’ve aught better in mind for us. In fact, I believe we shall we quite well sheltered.” There was no time to send ravens and certainly no use. If they rode fast, they would make it shortly after the sun had set. And he knew he could count on the hospitality of these Northerners, if only from the words of his kin. Turning about, he signalled the Richard who’d fallen back along with Myles.

The former rode forth, a question upon his lips. “I can see that the men have grown weary. We shall make for Winterfell directly and wait out the worst of weather’s caprices.” Agreement was swift and his perceived generosity was met with no small amount of joy by the cold and tired men. In fact, Rhaegar himself was beginning to feel the effects of the chill and would fain sit before a fire.

And so, they deviated slightly from their path. The more they advanced, the harder it became to see as the storm around them raged and howled, might be keenly displeased with their daring. But Winterfell awaited and like any good subject, the lord of the house, no doubt having made out the three-headed dragon on the banner they flew, sent a few men to greet them.

In they were taken, brought to the great hall where the family had gathered. Rhaegar had unfortunately never had cause to travel so far North before, albeit he knew his sire had visited with Lord Stark at some point. In spite of the coolness between the Crown and the North of late, his host approached with a smile on his face, his lady wife, close behind, with a trencher in hand upon which the expect offerings had been arranged.

“Be welcome in my home, Your Grace, along with your men,” he greeted jovially, as Rhaegar extended a hand. The man mirrored the gesture, clasping his forearm firmly. His wife welcomed him as well.

“And glad I am for that. The storm threatened to bury us all.” Something like a giggle sounded from behind the man. Being as he was tall enough that his host did not impede his vision, he could well make out the young girl doing her best to hide her merriment. “Your daughter?”

“Aye.” The man glanced over his shoulder and motioned the girl over, presumably, as she pouted gently before doing as her father bade. “Lyanna, my girl, jests are better when they are shared.”

Blushing the girl looked from her father to him and back again. “’Twas naught but an amusing thought, my lord.” She curtsied without having to be told. And smiled prettily upon the heel of a quiet greeting. 

Her father looked as though he would press the issue, likely because he was more aware of his daughter’s tendencies than him. Nevertheless, Rhaegar intervened. “Let the girl keep her thought if she so wishes, my lord; it doesn’t do much harm to be private every once in a while.” The sweet smile upon her face turned into a grateful grin.

Without further ado, the girl reached over and took the trencher from her mother’s hands, extending the symbols of peace forth. He bowed to tradition and gave the wolves his trust. Servants extended like gestured about the hall.

Rickard Stark chuckled and patted his daughter’s head with obvious affection. “Prettily done.” She beamed at her sire as well before stepping away, still holding the trencher. “Let us show you and yours to proper accommodations, Your Grace, and we may speak if it please you after you have rested and had your fill of food and drink.”

As promised, chambers had been made available for his use and his men were more than welcome to bed with the other men at arms, only Arthur remained close by, to do his duty. Winterfell was a keep great in size, the wife of his host explained, her gentle voice captivating for its quietness, and populated by a number of servants, thus he should feel free to make use of any of them if it please him.

His own quarters came with more than enough space to rival the King’s chambers in Maegor’s Holdfast. A merry fire burned within the grate and food and drink had arrived sometime before him. The steam rising off of them indicated the care of his hosts though. Along with that he’d been left with warm water and clean strips of linen.

Rhaegar set about divesting himself of the heavier garments, rubbing some feeling back into his fingers. A knock on the door interrupted him just as he was about to pour himself a drink. A servant begged his pardon, even as the door opened and the man dragged a chest in his wake. Rhaegar indicated that it should be placed by the foot of the bed after which he released the man to his other duties.

He washed before eating and drinking his fill, not having realised quite how deprived he’d been on the journey until such luxuries as spiced wine and warm food were staring him in the face. He might have rested a while as well, but in truth he was not tired. What he did wish to do was join his host for that proposed discussion. Some matters, he was aware were best when explained to a man’s face and doubtlessly there would be questions.

Rhaegar opened the door in time to see the lord’s daughter racing down the hall. She noticed him as well, for she checked her step and reddened a second time. The girl bit down upon her lower lip, suddenly shy. He smiled gently, hoping to put her at ease. “In a rush, my lady?”

“Not more so than usual,” she answered, her voice somewhat faint. “My lord father said that if it please you, I might show you to his solar.” Her hair, unbound upon their first meeting, had been pulled and restrained into a single long braid for some reason, though her garments remained unchanged.

“Only if I am not keeping you from your other engagements, lady.” She was not a woman grown, yet her manner was very much in that vein. It confused him somewhat. But she graciously shook her head and it spoke of the trust her sire and dame put in her that she should be the one tasked with keeping him company.

“I have none,” she confirmed a moment later, “for all my brothers are from home. And my lady mother does not expect me for a little while yet. Which is why my lord father sent me.”

“How many brothers do you have?” he asked, keeping the conversation going. He did not offer his arm and she did not stand close enough for him to make a move in that sense, seeming to prefer a little bit of distance. They walked together.

“Three in all. Brandon squires in the Reels, Ned at Lord Arryn’s home and Benjen is visiting Brandon.” She frowned. “Father would not allow me to visit for some reason.  You have a brother as well, aye?”

“Viserys,” he supplied. She’d not been to the tourney Tywin Lannister held and neither had any of her kin as far as he recalled, though he did remember the North sending gifts. “He is still but a babe in arms.”

There was little time for more, as they’d reached her father’s solar. The guard posted at the door had a bow for him and a smile for Lyanna who found it exceedingly easy to smile back. He let them within without further delay.

 Lyanna did not linger overlong. She merely asked of her sire whether he required her further, to which he answered that surely she had other tasks to see to. And with that, the man’s daughter took her leave, a parting smile upon her lips. Which left Rhaegar in the company of his host, only the two of them. He sat down without waiting for an invitation and watched as Rickard poured the both of them wine.

“Good Arbor vintage,” he explained, handing Rhaegar a cup. “My wife won’t drink aught else, thus I find my cellar stocked with it.”

“To your health, my lord.” He raised the cup gently. The host happily accepted that, countering it with well-wishes of his own. “But I expect you’ve other matters to discuss with me. So let us turn our attention to such as those.”

“Not a man to waste his words. I like that.” Rickard Stark nodded firmly, putting down his cup. “I shall return the favour then by being direct. How came you to renounce your birthright?” It was a simple enough question and the particulars, he was certain, had travelled faster than he had. But Rhaegar suspected the man was looking for the deeper reason.

“Some differences cannot be reconciled even with the help of tolerance. Therefore I decided that being tolerant for a moment longer would transgress into the realm of weakness.” The man sitting before him gave no answer for a few moments, seeming to soak in his words. Rhaegar waited patiently for further questions.

Rickard obliged. “What is it that you hope to achieve by such a move? I confess I do not understand.”

“Only that which is possible to achieve; I must confer with good maester Aemon before I definitively make up my mind, my lord. Though, there is something I wonder about. Might be you would enlighten me.”

“If it is within my power.” A fair enough answer. Rhaegar did not address the question directly though. He took a drink out of his cup, enjoying the taste.

“How came you by such a wonderful household?” The question was genuine, its intent fulfilled when his host chuckled. As a general rule, Rhaegar did not enjoy opening himself up to scrutiny, least of all on matters of great privacy.

“’Tis all the work of my Lyarra.“ It was strange to hear a man speak of his wife with such obvious affection. “If I may, a good wife smoothes her man’s path and the wisest of us will look towards marriage with the greatest of care.” It was sound enough advice thus Rhaegar found himself nodding. “Speaking of, Your Grace, I understood your Baratheon kin was to sail in search of a bride from the Free Cities.”

“If is my sire’s wish to wed Viserys to such a creature, certainly.” He, on the other hand, had other alliances to consider. They continued an easy conversation, Lord Stark giving in every now and again and allowing something of his hone to be revealed. All in all it was a satisfactory discussion.

By the time the evening meal was served, Rhaegar had seen a fair bit of the keep with some aid from his host. And the rest of the evening passed in companionable dialogue with the inhabitants of Winterfell. His attention turned again and again to the lord’s daughter as she chattered with his companions, clearly in her element once they settled on the topic of horses.

Pausing for a brief moment, the girl glanced in his direction and nodded with a small smile before granting her attention to Richard. “It is not often that she has the chance to converse with those of rank not related to her,” Lady Lyarra commented, apparently keeping as attentive watch of her daughter even as he. Rhaegar gave her the benefit of his glance. Her daughter might have greater opportunity to practice were she allowed without the bounds of her sire’s keep.

“Might be she would benefit from visiting with her brothers, my lady.” She chuckled but shook her head.

“I haven’t a talent for intrigue, Your Grace, and I much prefer bluntness in any event. Therefore I shan’t play coy; I need a steady character for the girl. Naught less will satisfy me.” Rhaegar accepted the answer, wondering if her thoughts strayed in the same direction as his.

“What of Lady Lyanna’s preferences?” he queried, finding he could just about make out the girl’s laughter amid the general noise of the bustling great hall.

“My daughter is wise enough to know that her duty need not interfere with that at all.” He could not understand whether she spoke of their being so far apart that naught could breach the gap or of their being intertwined. “Tell me, Your Grace, how long do you plan to stay in these here parts?”

“A turn or so,” he disclosed. “My kin took vows at the Wall and serves yet. I thought it best to look to him for wisdom in these troubling times.” She nodded her head understandingly, her eyes watching him with a shrewdness he’d seen before. He did not dislike the attention for it meant he was being considered with due regard.

“You must return by way of Winterfell after your stay at the Wall. For while I know you should like to make good time in reaching your kin, I would also have you enjoy the proper hospitality of the North.” It was as close as he would get to an admission of her plans, Rhaegar suspected and she nodded his head in agreement, wondering if her lord husband knew what he was up to. If the daughter grew to be not unlike her mother, I would be to her husband’s benefit.

Speaking of, Lady Lyanna had risen and was making her way towards them, her face pleasantly flushed, he imagined from the heat. “Your Grace, I was told you enjoyed riding.” She was a forward little baggage. Amused, he answered that he did indeed enjoy it. Was that what she had been discussing with Arthur and Richard? “A morning ride then.” She looked from him to her lady mother, clearly anticipating acceptance.

“Lyanna, truly,” the older woman chided gently. But he interceded on her behalf yet again, allowing that he would be glad for a ride. “I suppose,” his host’s wife relented, “if your father has the time to join you. I see no harm in it after all.”

He didn’t either and could see that the girl had approached the whole affair innocently enough, even if she did so at the behest of her parents. Lyanna seated herself on his other side, content to watch the great hall and the interactions it offered with genuine interest. He found himself speaking to her lady mother once more. “I hope we shan’t be putting undue strain on Lord Stark with our demands.”

“Have no fear, my husband is not so easily affected.” There was something almost secretive about her smile just then. She resembled her daughter a great deal more than he had thought at a glance. “But know that you need not indulge Lyanna overlong. It wouldn’t do to give her undue expectations or else she’ll grow spoiled soon enough.” He glanced in the girl’s direction to see whether she’d heard, but her eyes were tightly locked to a drinking competition born between some of her father’s men.

“Would that be so very bad, do you think, my lady?” Indulging the girl could not bring much harm in the event that he made up his mind one way or the other.

“I suppose that is up to each and every man to decide.” The lady leaned back in her seat. “She grows lonely at times, especially now that my youngest is gone. I suppose indulging her can only help.” Hadn’t the girl intimated as much? Might be it had been that loneliness which pushed her rather than anything her parents might have said.

“She is close to her brothers then?” There wasn’t an answer right away. Rhaegar reached for his wine.

“I suppose she is as close to them as can be expected. As children they played together, she and Ned and Benjen. Brandon had already been sent away to squire.” She bit her lower lip as though considering whether she should share her thoughts with him. “It is a difficult thing, to feel as though you are being abandoned.”

She was making a point. Rhaegar realised only after the words had already left her lips that she thought to underscore similarities. “Surely she does not think her brothers would forget her.”

“Allow enough time to pass and even one’s closest kin will seem strangers.” If that were the case, it saddened him. She seemed a girl too sweet to be hurt in such a manner.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. II.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The family broke their fast informally, in a neat and shaded chamber, warmed by a merry fire. Rhaegar was not necessarily surprised, but he hadn’t expected to be invited along. It seemed much too intimate a thing. Nevertheless, he found himself ushered in and seated at the round table between a pleased matron and her sleepy charge. Lady Lyanna yawned into her bowl of porridge by way of greeting, attracting her mother’s ire and a sharp scold.

Sobered, the maiden looked up and blushed becomingly, an apology upon her lips. “I do not think I have quite woken up,” she murmured, though did not seem too put out. Dropping a spoon-full of honey into her bowl, she stirred.

“You had best wake then, else you shan’t be riding this morning at all,” her father answered. That had her shaking away the sleep and lifting her spoon with purpose.

Resisting the urge to chuckle, Rhaegar wondered why it was they’d seen fit to include him. He hadn’t an answer. Yet he felt the need to contribute in some manner. Meals with his kin had ill-prepared him though. His lady mother rarely if ever conversed during, and his lord father mostly worried over the possibility of being poisoned. He’d much preferred eating on his own, or in the company of fellow knights. Lyanna solved the problem for him.

“Your Grace, would you like some honey?” She held the dish towards him, shifting it to the side precariously. Thinking only to spare the waste, he took hold of the small container. As a general rule, he limited himself to as little sweetening as possible; out of habit, rather than calling. For the moment, however, he was willing to allow the small indulgence.

“Thank you,” he said, putting some honey into his own bowl. He careful replaced what she’d offered, nearly missing her response.

Lyanna beamed. “You are so much better than my brothers. They never thank me.” It was not precisely spoken for the company to hear. In fact, it was quiet enough that he was rather certain she only meant for him to hear. He had no manner of answer for that, thus simply acknowledged her with a nod, avoiding her gaze.

He heard her suck in a breath. “If you were half as gracious to your brothers, I am certain they would.” That came from her mother, spoken in teasing notes lined with amused laughter. “Is Your Grace still interested in riding this morning?” the woman changed the subject with before embarrassment could set in. She was deft at it, Rhaegar observed, wondering if was a talent acquired from many a meals shared in such familial congeniality.

“Do say you are,” Lyanna encouraged from his other side, her voice slightly raised. Horses, he surmised, were a passion of hers.

“But of course. Naught could induce me to change my mind.” Well, that wasn’t precisely truthful. He could think of a few things which might, but she looked so earnestly pleased that he hadn’t the heart to admit it to her face.   

“You are too kind, Your Grace,” the patriarch stated, eyeing his daughter, who was busy devouring her porridge, with mild amusement. “Lyanna does so love riding.” By the looks of things she’d rather her daughter make less of a display of her preferences. Unable to help himself, Rhaegar smiled.

“It is a most pleasant pastime,” the head of the house offered, reaching out for a slice of bread. He gave his wife a meaningful look which Rhaegar had little interest in interpreting, especially as it seemed the lady intended to respond in kind.

Lyanna, having meantime, finished her meal, pushed the bowl away and met his gaze. Her eyes held a certain amount of fond exasperation, as though she could not quite believe her parents were engaging in such a display, which, to be fair, was somewhat shocking insofar he’d not expected such open affection. “You needn’t attempt to keep up with their conversation,” she whispered conspiratorially. “Best to ignore them altogether.”

He almost chuckled. “I find their display endearing,” he confessed, his tone low enough that he would not be overheard. Or so he hoped. “I see you are done with your meal,” he nodded towards her bowl, not entirely easy in having revealed to her as much as he had. The Starks seemed a most- amiable collection of people, but he simply had to remind himself he was yet too new in their acquaintance to know the truth of it.

“Habit,” the girl shrugged. “And brothers tend to be competitive.” He blinked at her, not entirely certain how he ought to take the words. He did chuckle then. Somehow, he could not see Lady Lyanna allowing any of her brothers steal a march on her, even in something as meaningless as a competition.

They continued with the meal, the conversation settling on the neutral subject of horses. He found to his surprise that Lady Lyarra was neither an able horsewoman, nor particularly fond of horses. “They are beastly creatures with a good dose of stubbornness. I am pleased enough to see little of them.” Her daughter protested vehemently, declaring her own mare a paragon, sweet, docile and agile. “You shan’t attract me in an argument,” her mother declared, apparently pleased to have simply made her sentiments known.

“You haven’t given any sensible horse a chance,” Lady Lyanna sputtered a moment later. “These are kind, smart and majestic creatures.” Clearly the argument would not advance past that, as the woman refused to engage further. “Lord father, can you not tell her she is in the wrong?”

“Your lady mother has made her mind up,” the man answered easily. Rhaegar looked between mother and daughter. He wondered if in spite of her dislike for horses, the lady of the house would still come along. She did seem to be dressed for the occasion.

His instinct proved to be correct when, by the end of the morning meal, all of them repaired to the stables where a few lads had already prepared the horses. Arthur, never one to be tardy, waited as well, a knowing smile upon his lips. Rhaegar wondered at what it was his friend would say when he had the chance.

But then he had little time to spare before the Stark maiden stopped before a stall, cooing at the beast within. Even even-tempered in the face of such behaviour, Salwed seemed to take the admiration as though it was his due. To her credit, the girl did not reach out to the beast. While he would never begrudge anyone their lingering gaze, he’d been known to bite.

“He’s a beautiful horse,” Lyanna declared, looking to him but a moment later. Taken though she was, the girl did not linger overlong, instead making for her own steed, or rather a gelding of intermediate height. The soft, dapple grey coat found itself the recipient of a few loving stroked before the girl, with the aid of a stool, mounted. “Might be we could race them,” she suggested, eyeing Salwed with obvious interest. He’d win. Of that Rhaegar was certain. Salwed’s hooves bit into the ground as though he could make out the challenge in her words. “It needn’t be anything other than an exercise,” she amended, presumably at the look upon his own face.

“If my lady so desires,” he answered, his concentration broken by a snort. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Lord Stark helping his wife upon her own horse. She gripped at the pommel tightly, needing a few moments to find her bearing.

Lord Stark, unlike his wife and daughter, brought out a stallion of his own. Fine russet dawn gleamed in the low light and the creature threw its head back. He saw the lady of the house click her tongue and bit back his amusement. It seemed Salwed would have some competition after all.

In spite of her obvious reluctance, Lady Lyarra was steady in her seat, if not particularly graceful. The horse, he supposed, was a docile thing with nary a taste for competitions. Her daughter, much as he’d anticipated, sported exemplary balance. Yet too close an inspection of the two women could give rise to questions. He instead settled upon admiring the bleak landscape about, surprised at the moving quality of its sparse beauty. There was something to be said about austerity and rigid lines, he supposed.

“Not so bad when the storm finally lets us, is it?” his host commented, holding one hand out as though to encompass their surroundings.

“It is still hazard enough,” Arthur chimed in. He gave Rhaegar a quelling look, as though he were somehow at fault for the present situation. “Do you not fear freezing to death?” He could have sworn his teeth clattered by the end of the question.

“Take heart, ser,” Rhaegar teased, unable to help himself in the face of such prime opportunity, “for our host, unlike some, clearly does not lack for warmth.” The jest was taken in the same vein it had been made and Rickard Stark chuckled heartily, along with Arthur who, in spite of his apparent sullenness, was not, in fact, so against the outing.

The ladies fell behind, caught in some conversation of their own. It was just as well, for he relished the opportunity to further observe Lord Stark and, of course, learn what plans percolated within his mind. “My lady wife seems to be under the impression that your return is inevitable,” the man confessed, “and as such she had been insisting I further press for a confirmation upon this count.”

“I should hate to see the lady disappointed after the kindness she has shown me. Albeit, you must know, my lord, that some will wonder.” It was a fair enough warning, one which he hoped would weed out those of faint heart. “And at times assumptions can be quite unflattering.”

“I do not doubt there will be no small amount of assumptions, Your Grace,” Rickard Stark chuckled, “and some of them may well be unflattering. But mouths cannot be stopped. Better they speculate over innocent subjects such as these.” A sage nod followed. “Aside from which, it would be a pity to finally have an opportunity to visit the kingdoms at one’s leisure and not take it.”

It was cushioned in all the proper language and Rhaegar recalled Lady Lyarra’s words. Would he have preferred a blunt approach though? “Indeed, it would be an unpardonable waste were I to do so. You may assure your lady wife I look forward to my prolonged stay when it comes the time.” Might be Uncle Aemon would have something of import to impart upon him about the Starks. He could only hope that were the case for he was much interested in furthering his knowledge.

“She will be most gratified.” The North was in truth the one place where he could expect to have some peace of mind, for few were those who willingly ventured so far beyond the Neck. He might search out a way to revive the dragons to his heart’s content and he could do so within a bearable distance from the one man whose counsel he trusted. The Starks were as good a bet as any and he would be remiss should he not encourage the tentative bond to deepen. Thus convinced, he offered a calm, opaque smile.

“Are you and your lady wife some manner of kin, I wonder.” He thought he’d read that they were, but then all noble lines were somewhat intertwined.

“And so we are. My grandsire was her uncle.” And yet she seemed to be some years younger than her lord husband. “That is a story in itself,” the man added, an odd expression settling upon his face. “And that Your Grace shall hear at some point, I do not doubt.” It would not surprise him if it were a tale of great passion. For the moment he was content not to press for further detail.

And a wise choice that was, for the younger of the two women reached them just then, her gelding trembling gently, the fine tremors joined by misty breath. The rider too was seemed disconcerted, eyeing her father with a pleading look. “Lady mother says she would have words.” In spite of her behaviour, her voice remained even, albeit a tad low.

“Go along, my lord,” he encouraged. “We shall look after Lady Lyanna, won’t we Arthur?” Arthur gave a snort which Rhaegar took for agreement. Since he was not about to include the knight into his conversation, he turned a blind eye to that reaction. “You’ve fine form upon that horse, my lady. Who taught you to ride so well?”

She blushed becomingly, a twitter of gratitude grazing her lips. “My lord father. He taught all of us.” The girl beamed. She glanced over her shoulder. Rhaegar followed her gaze as it shifted to her parents. Lord Stark seemed to be comforting his lady. “She truly does not like riding.”

“I hope it was not our presence which compelled her to sit a horse then.” More than likely it was. But Lyanna hurried to assure him such was not the case. “If it isn’t too forward a question, why does Lady Stark have such an aversion towards the creatures?” It was certainly an odd thing. Ladies were not expected to be spectacular in their saddle, but it was more or less a point that they travel on horse, which meant they needed to be at least competent.

“It has to do with my aunt and some scrape they got into as children. I was never made fully aware of the whole of it.” She shrugged. Her horse neighed softly, hooves dancing upon thin ice. But Lady Lyanna, unlike her mother, kept firm hold of the reins.

When he glanced back, he noted that both lord and lady had dismounted. “Ought we leave our seats as well?” he asked gently. The lady of the house looked pale, too much so to overlook. To his surprise, the daughter shook her head.

“It happens every now and again,” Lyanna explained, “and my lord father sees to it every single time. She would not wish us to change our plans on her account.” In spite of the gracious words, the girl was clearly worried and Rhaegar could not well proceed. He dismounted with ease and walked towards her. He lifted her by the waist.

“We can walk a space,” he said, placing her hand upon his arm, supporting her weight as she veered forth. “The horses need their rest as well.”

“You are ever so kind, Your Grace.” He could well afford it. Rhaegar pointed nothing of the sort out. He stroked the girl’s hand in brotherly fashion and helped her along the icy ground. “If we could give them a few moments longer,” she suggested, her weight shifting away from him, towards what looked to be a small copse. It was the most they could have done in any event. “I think, might be, there is something else at the heart of it this time.”

He glanced down at her. She looked up, her frown easing. “Have you no female companions your own age?” he asked, hoping to distract her. It could not do a body good to keep glancing at the source of one’s worries.

“Some of my father’s bannermen have daughters, of course, but I suspect that, like me, they too are needed elsewhere. There is always so much to do.” He thought of his own lady mother, whiling the day away with embroidery and prayer. A snort distracted him. “It is rude to show such blatant disbelief.” Arthur had moved a little ways away.

“Hardly.” He sighed. “I was simply thinking it must be a different matter here in the North for my lady mother has little enough to occupy her.”

“Naturally her tasks would be different, but a queen is not the same as a lady of the house.” Failing to see the difference, he shrugged. But Lyanna would not leave well enough alone. “What does your lady mother do then?”

“She embroiders and prays a great deal. Every now and again she rides.” The girl blinked. “What else is there to do?”

“Spoken like a man. There are servants to oversee and small domestic matters to take care of. You do not think such matters find resolution on their own, do you, Your Grace?” To his knowledge, his mother had ever relied on the more exalted servants to see to the lesser ones. “Might be a queen never has to bestir herself quite so, but I expect a wife and mother would no matter her position. How else does one ensure the comfort of one’s family?”

“I daresay not all wives see matters as you describe them.” That she allowed with a quick, nearly dismissive nod. He waited for her to speak, and she did not disappoint.

“No doubt some dislike their position. Why should they see to the comfort of someone they despise? But such matters, Your Grace, are known by happy wives as well.” A grin surfaced. “It is an art, after all. Might be not as well-appreciated as jousting, but nevertheless important in its own way.”

“I shall have to be very careful then not to incite any ire, for I do not doubt your revenge would be swift as it’d be painful.” Laughter filled the space between them.

“It would not come to that, I am certain. My brothers, on the other hand, I would be quite willing to teach a lesson or two.” She complained of her youngest sibling, mentioning some attempt of his to frighten her. “Sometimes I wish they would treat me as gallantly as Brandon treats Lady Barbrey.” Her lips curled downwards. “I did mean it when I said you were so much better than them.”

He felt decidedly awkward accepting the compliment. On the one hand, he was not and would never be a brother to her. On the other, he could well understand how so responsive a maiden found herself on the receiving end of much teasing. Children would have no compunction about imparting such upon her, be she the daughter of a grand lord or nay.

Fortunately for him, he was saved from further examining the situation by the girl’s parents who had at long last settled whatever trouble had compelled Lady Lyarra to dismount. While still a shade to pale for comfort, the woman had regained her earlier cheery disposition and took her daughter away with a few murmured words which made little sense to him.

Still and all, having no claim on her charming company, he had to give her up without a fuss. Instead, he found himself in the slightly more comfortable presence of Lord Stark and Arthur. “I hope the lady is not unwell,” he nodded towards Lyarra who was holding her daughter’s hands and speaking rapidly to the girl’s continual nodding.

“Not as yet.” Which was, in faith, a most peculiar response to his albeit indirect wish that the lady be well. “It makes no matter,” the husband shrugged, clearly unconcerned, “as she and Lyanna make for the keep now.” The lady might have returned with the few men that had followed in order to afford them protection, but then Rhaegar supposed her father did not wish her to be the sole female, or he wished to broach a subject she had yet need to take note of.

“That is most cruel,” Arthur hurried to lighten the mood, presumably in response to the frown Rhaegar felt relaxing as his friend spoke. “The Lady Lyanna was very charming company.”

Lord Stark gave him a knowing look. The man couldn’t have missed with whom his daughter had been keeping company. “Never fear, ser, my daughter makes a point of not disappointing guests.”

“Then we shall endeavour to be kind guests in turn as means of reward.” He’d not arrived in the North with any thought to wed, Lady Lyanna or anyone. It would be, he expected, somewhat of a shock were he to write of such plans. Which indicated to him, he might as well see to the matter while time was on his side. Better to have it all settled rather than suffer disappointment later. “Speaking of, my lord; how old is your daughter precisely?”

“One and ten. What matters that though?” Old enough to be considering possible matches for her then. Rhaegar made a soft sound, indicating he would explain in a moment. Eyeing the departing women, he wondered how swiftly his lady mother could facilitate his father’s agreement. In truth it ought not to be too grand a task given he was no longer heir and thus needn’t bring much with a match.

“A great many things can happen until she is a woman grown, my lord.” He needed something more than the good opinion of his host if his wishes were to be fulfilled. “I confess I appreciate the more direct approach in these matters, for time is not always on one’s side. Therefore, tell me now, what can I expect of you?”

“Unwavering support.” He blinked, considering the words at length. A nod came after. “My middle son squires for Lord Arryn and the youngest I mean to send further south. Storm’s End shall doubtlessly serve in good stead in this regard. My eldest is to wed Catelyn Tully. Hoster’s daughter.” It was no guarantee of success, but it was more than he’d thus far had. “Baratheon has been asking after my daughter.”

“I take it you would rather she wed elsewhere though?” He knew of Robert by reputation rather than interaction. As such he held his own counsel regarding the tales he’d heard. Lyanna and Robert; if she thought her brothers treated her ill with their jests and teasing, she was bound to be much disappointed in a man who would forget her as soon as another pretty face happened along.

“Only recently have I found that elsewhere is an option.” She seemed a kind, sweet girl. The sort who would grow content if given a modicum of respect and affection, the sort who would in turn grow attached, the sort, in short, who expected what he wished for in such a union. Wishes, however, much like dreams remained without the realm of reality. “Steffon assured me she would be well cared for and made content.”

“And the son echoed his father’s assurances?” It was, he understood, a mere offer which he was being presented with. Had the Northerner wished to pressure him, there would have been aught else to it.

“The son was otherwise engaged at the time, but he was and is, his father assures, amenable.” He did not know the girl well, but then others wed with scant minutes of prior knowledge of one another. He, by comparison, had had hours. Robert, of course, might one day meet the Lady Lyanna and fall violently in love with her. He might equally be only fleetingly moved and thereby cause her pain as they grew in their older years together.

Was he not, then, the safer bet? He had both the incentive and the patience to please her within their marriage. He would offer her what was in him to offer, and he rather thought she’d be an appreciative receiver. “The thought occurs to me that the lady ought to know what she gives up in choosing one over another. Lord Steffon’s son shall one day have a keep of his own to give her.”

“And if she should shown preference for a keep by the sea?” As her father, the man could and might be even would demand the girl’s obedience. Rhaegar wanted something substantially more difficult to obtain.

“I shall simply convince her there is more to anticipate than a keep by the sea.” He did not smile, though his word, cruel as they might seem, were tempered by an unspoken promise. “I can be quite persuasive.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. III.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Maester,” Rhaegar greeted, allowing himself a grin when faced with his kin. The man was might be somewhat diminished since last he’d seen him, an effect of age, without doubt, yet not that much changed that he should be unrecognisable. “It is good to see you.” Rhaegar stepped forth, gently clapping a hand upon the man’s shoulder.

“Likewise, my boy.” The frail maester looked at him with kindly eyes, a spark of something deep within them giving him pause. Rhaegar elected not to linger upon that, the courtyard being no place for questioning and such. “The Lord Commander. I fear, shall be gone for a while longer.”

“Needs must, good maester. The man doubtlessly has his reasons.” And all the better that he had not arrived in time to greet him at arrival. Much as Rhaegar was curious about the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, there were other matters, more pressing in nature, which demanded his attention.

“Indeed.” Aemon Targaryen paused a moment, eyeing something behind Rhaegar. For his part, Rhaegar resisted the urge to turn and take in whatever had attracted his kin’s attention. “Let us abandon the courtyard, my boy. These old bones suffer greatly under the effects of vicious cold.” At the moment those words left his lips, a gust of wind irrupted from a westward point, sweeping over the courtyard and its inhabitants with merciless abandon, as though intending to clear the lot of them away.

“Best we do,” he agreed, not much pleased with the insistent tugging on his cloak. He’d had enough of winter’s bite for the time being and would fain enjoy the warmth of a roaring fire or even the gentler benefaction of gleed. His kindred must have been thinking along similar lines, for the great hall into which he was led, though absent a multitude of individuals, was still fairly warm in comparison to the outside.

The handful of men apparently engrossed in taking their meagre meal did not give much attention to the newcomers. If anything, a look or two seemed to satisfy their curiosity as to what it was that went on about them. Rhaegar took them in with the same amount of curiosity, more concerned with the quality of the company than the reaction they exhibited.

“Tell me, is the great hall abandoned or are there not quite enough men to fill it?” The question, spoken in a soft tone thankfully remained between himself and the good maester.

“There is a great number of black brothers, and they usually congregate during mealtimes, however, some exceptions have to be made for those returning from beyond the Wall.” The maester nodded towards one of the men wolfing down the contents of a wooden bowl.  “All hands are needed for one task or another.”

“I see.” They did not linger overlong in the great hall, as a young man hurriedly brought them what looked to be warm ale with an apology for tardiness and an explanation that it was, indeed, the fault of the cook for slowing him down.  

“Worry not, we are not in any great hurry,” the maester set him at ease before sending him on his way. Rhaegar concerned himself with the contents of his cup, enjoying the warmth spreading through him. There was something to be said of the sweet taste of the concoction.

The moment of respite stretched further as they were led into the grand maester’s chambers while accommodations were prepared for their stay. “You must excuse the delay. At times it is that much easier to prepare chambers once the quests have arrived. That said, let us speak of the path you wish to set yourself upon.”

“A path I have already set myself upon,” Rhaegar corrected, “there is not much to discuss, maester. It is done, and it is done for the better.” A frown creased old Aemon’s face. Rhaegar pressed the tip of his tongue to the roof of his mouth to keep from offering any manner of further explanation.

“When I refused the throne, I did so in the hopes that a better man was taking up the reins, a man who would keep matters well in hand. I had hoped that might be the gods would look kindly upon someone willingly taking on such a burden.” A long sigh left his lungs. “But you see, my boy, I was set upon my course before I’d had to train myself into being a king.”

“There are yet things I can take on.” The response did not seem to alleviate his companion’s chagrin. Even so, the matter had come to a close and he could not more take his decision back than he could force the sun to keep from rising. “I have been hoping we could take a closer look at the proceedings which went down at Summerhall. There are a few matters I cannot seem to grasp.”

The transition was easy enough, considering Maester Aemon kept shaking his head, no doubt at the outcome of it all. “And you have brought with you a few eggs, I hope. Discussions are all well and good, but action is the decisive factor.”

“Friable as the bond of words is, I would not know what actions to take to begin with, my good man. The last time we’ve made such an attempt we managed to lose quite a few of our number.” He would nonetheless bring the eggs to be studied. “When the time is right, we shall no doubt proceed to assaying whatever theories we develop.”

Albicant orbs remained fixed upon his own face, in seeming consideration of the proposal. “We may make use of this chamber for our work. No one will bother us as long as we keep to ourselves. The Lord Commander, I am certain, will see the wisdom of allowing us to carry on, just as long as this does not interfere with any other of my responsibilities.”

“I am certain we can work around whatever limitations crop ahead.” They continued with the conversation, moving away from the subject of dragons to more mundane matters, specifically with Rhaegar attempting to make out what manner of tasks were generally assigned to the maester of Castle Black.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ser Wynton Stout was by all accounts a man in his old age, nearing the end of his life one might say. For all that, his haggard appearance hid a wealth of vivacity and tempered restlessness. “These young ones,” the man snorted towards the commiserating ear of his kin, the old maester, “they know so little, yet would have you dancing to their tune.”

“Good ser, what they lack in experience they make up for in enthusiasm,” Aemon countered, crinkled face further wrinkling along with the hearty smile he produced. “It is somewhat a matter of quiddity with them. Altitudinarian and stultifying though you might find their efforts, one cannot deny the operose nature of their actions. That in itself ought to win some admiration.”

Grunting through the thickness of his beard, Ser Wynton gruffly allowed that some admiration was due such efforts, but maintained that the labours were more akin to baltering than graceful, thoughtful, purposeful movements in a well choreographed collection of actions. “At the end of the day, it is their contrarian approach which loses them support. And no amount of conceding admiration on anyone’s part may bridge the gap of their content.”

“This would be so much less entertaining without the strong spirits,” Arthur whispered. Unfortunately for him, he was overheard and swiftly reprimanded by the vociferous knight at their table.     

“This is precisely what I mean,” Wynton insisted, nodding towards Arthur, “they hold little enough in esteem long enough that they develop conviction.”

“Aye, but at least we, good ser,” Arthur cut in mischievously, “shall have a great time of running at one another at tourneys as opposed to chasing after barbaric Wildlings over great expanses of frost and chill.”

Ser Mallador Locke, another occupant at the table, choked on his bit of bread in an attempt to restrain laughter. “He has you there, old man. Naught more enjoyable than the favour of a maiden.”

“And what do you suppose these barbarians would do if we were not here to stop them?” Old Wynton demanded as though Mallador had not spoken. “Abience of such matters will fail to keep anyone safe when faced with these hard men of the North. You might laugh now, young knight, but I assure you, Wildlings fight tooth and nail and care not for the rules you have imposed upon yourself.”

“Be that as it may, I am not a man to seek latibule in the face of peril,” Arthur assured, as always confident in his own skill. “They lack weapons of quality, they are disorganised and wouldn’t be able to maintain a victory even if they somehow managed a feat of its like before our own soldiery.”

“I must echo my friend’s words,” Rhaegar offered. “This is not an issue of fierceness, but of skill. These people are simply lacking in any proper training. They could not hope to win in a fight against us.”

“An easy enemy they are not, Your Grace,” Ser Mallador elected to share. “They may not be trained in the manner a proper knight is trained, but for all that they have their own skill. And that is only compounded by their manner of attack. You never fight only one of them if they can help it.”

“And is it often that one is caught in such a situation?” Rhaegar could not help but ask. It seemed to him short-sighted in the extreme to send one’s men off without making certain they are of adequate number to confront an enemy. Might be the Lord Commander could focus his attention upon the matter whenever it was the he returned.

“It is inevitable that one will be caught in such a situation from time to time,” his own kin mused. “Wildlings have their dram of cunning, one cannot deny, and they use it to full advantage. Aside from which, we are not the only ones sending out our members on recognisance. The North is harsh enough, the land beyond the Wall doubly so, in part on account of its inhabitants.”

“I am willing to test my skill against a whole tribe of Wildlings,” Arthur jumped in, much to Rhaegar’s amusement. “In fact, sers, I should dearly love an opportunity to prove my words. Better yet if you would take bets. One can never have enough coin, can one?”

“Might be you shall have your wish,” Ser Mallador laughed. Rhaegar could not figure out whether that meant Arthur would, in fact, join the rangers on a short expedition or if it meant that his poor friend would never quite manage to prove himself in the eyes of the people around them.      

He was coming to learn that in spite of all he had been told about the Night’s Watch, of its members being by and large the most deplorable inhabitants of the kingdoms and its relevance being debatable, these men were in their own way a tightly-knight community, with its heroes and villains. It was a pity time was not taken to look into the matters. He had also learned that House Stark had some close ties to the Night’s Watch and they relied on the old noble line to encourage the adherence of noble names to the Watch’s roster. Ser Mallador Locke, for instance was some manner of kin with a Marna Locke, married into House Stark.  In fact, he was beginning to consider Maester Aemon’s situation quite fortunate and opportune, not only for the man, but for his own purposes.

“Arthur, at times I wonder about the words which come pouring forth from your mouth. Have you ever stopped to consider their meaning?” he questioned teasingly, in a low enough voice that the remark would be overlooked in the general din around them.

“I find it better to never look too closely upon such things as, to be frank, I quite frighten myself.” His companion chuckled, grabbing hold of his drink, downing what had to be half of it. “Aside from that, I am the arm here, not the brain. I leave all deep considerations to you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The chamber was well-lit enough, in spite of the thick darkness without. A thousand small flames created an almost overpowering glow. Rhaegar, who had previously been engrossed in the worlds on an old manuscript, come to such a conclusion only after he was shaken out of such a state by insistent hands. A pity too for he had begun to understand the words he’d been reading, or at least, he thought he did, for they all sounded oddly related to the common tongue, but were written down in a nearly incomprehensible manner.

“It would be best to leave that for another time,” the maester suggested with a knowing smile, having no doubt spent many an hour looking over such contents himself. And Rhaegar could well believe that to be the case. The man was a fountain of knowledge when it suited him. “Let us see what you have brought with you.”

Rising from his seat, Rhaegar moved towards the chest he had locked the materials within. First he took out one of the eggs. There was little sense in both out. His own it was that he’d chosen. The other, of a near enough age, would have to serve in case his own came somehow undone in the process, though given the tough shell, he did not foresee such an outcome.

Reverently handling the object, Rhaegar turned towards his kin and the table. The egg was placed in the middle of the otherwise empty surface but for a large metal plate. “I hope this will do.” He took a moment to position it correspondingly before retreating a couple of steps. He had gone in possession of the relic sometime after his birth. Though Rhaegar held no recollection of such a memory, he’d been told oft enough of the bit of legacy and had had many a year to admire the shape and structure of the unborn dragon.

The deep colour of the scales made the whole of it resemble a black ovum in an egg-and-dart moulding. The oval shape absorbed a great deal of the light lit candles threw upon it. Rhaegar sometimes wondered if the creature within ever managed to sense such things, the cold and warmth. Poor beast, locked away with nary a hope of escape. The egg was not, in fact, the colour of pitch. It was simply too dark a shade to be distinguished from the shadows in encroaching darkness. Aubergine and amaranthine, the scales held a spark of tint after all. Even if it could barely be detected; he supposed that was the beauty of it, the unexpected discovery.

“I daresay it will do very well.” Old, marcid Aemon approached the offering, scraping a small, sharp bit of metal against it. “It is important that the shell be resistant. We would not want to provoke damage if we can help it.” The thin edge stroked against its quarry half a dozen times before the man declared himself pleased with the result of his experiment. “Baring any disasters, we ought to be able to carry on.”

The first thing Rhaegar did was drag a bucket of water all the closer to the table. Should the flames get out of hand, it was better to have assured themselves of a quick way to put them out. “Now then,” the maester continued, “the common held belief is that dragons respond to fire. We ought to make do with some coal and wood to begin with.”

Thin shavings of wood along with busticated bits of coal surrounded the egg. One long wick was used to set fire to the circle. The maester had by some means obtained a healthy quantity of blood, some of which he sprinkled about, as they both watched the fire build. The flame was slow to appear, its barely-there presence making itself known by means of scent.

“Might be the blood ought not to feature until the flame burns,” Rhaegar suggested, leaning in. Even upon closer inspection there was not much he could make out which would aid. “By the by, what manner of blood is this?”

“Hare. Cook was kind enough to gather some for us.” The blood of prey. Was that even strong enough to call to the beast within? By the same logic, all other such beasts one fed upon would be useless. Might be if they managed to hunt down some manner of predator.

Rufescent accents burst to life, dancing from one scale to another with surprising legerity. In spite of that, there seemed to be no further reaction from the ossified covering. There was no softening, nor even did it turn brittle and crumble. “Some more blood,” the maester muttered, spooning out a double amount of the substance and pouring it over the flickering flames. The rain was not enough to douse the flames, but neither did it engender any manner of change.

An idea struck Rhaegar then. He would likely be unable to chase down some predatory beast upon such short notice, nor would he take much pleasure in the proceedings. But humans were themselves a sort of hunter. And he had more than enough blood that a few drops would not be wasted.

With purpose, he approached the fire and held out his hand over the protests of the maester. “It is worth a try,” he replied to the man’s reaction, feeling the fire sear his flesh. Rhaegar forced himself to remain unmoving even as the pain exploded beneath his skin. Only after a few long moments did he allowed the natural reaction to set in and held up his palm.

A small wound at the base of his palm gleamed with burgundy depths. Tugging his hunting knife free, Rhaegar further deepened the wound so blood might escape. He turned the abused flesh around and positioned it above the flames engulfed egg. Ever so slowly, the vital fluid dripped onto its target. It was all he could do to bring the essences together.  

Still, they could observe no change. A grunt of disappointment came from the maester. “We ought not to leave the flames burning,” he cautioned after a few moments of silence during which they came to terms with this first failure.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. IV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First update of 2019. Expect further disappointment

 

 

 

 

 

 

The advent of a new day brought the chirping of birds with it. Lyanna buried her face deeper into her pillow, doing her best to ignore the sounds beckoning her to a wakeful state. The trouble with mornings was that without some form of entertainment, such as a guest or at the very least one of her siblings about, they proved to lack the necessary qualities which might inspire her to partake in the proper rituals with any amount of enthusiasm. Her lack of enthusiasm translated into lethargic movements. She heard the soft tapping on the door signalling that the family would gather soon to break their fast together and groaned. Unfortunately, any and all attempts to lie in would be met with resistance from her kith and kin.

Struggling away from the warmth of the furs, she searched blindly for her slippers, fingers brushing against the Myrish carpet adorning the floor. Inquisitive digits met a bone-comb, a knotted snood and a scrap of silk before finally reaching the sought after slippers. Finally she opened her eyes. Peering over the edge of the bed, Lyanna found that she had indeed found thin-soled slippers lined with fur. At least her feet would be warm. With a sigh, she dragged herself to an upright sitting position and jammed each foot into its respective slipper.

Following that, she saved the bone-comb from a crushing fate.  Her fingers wrapped tightly around the polished piece as she ambled towards the table upon which rested her equally glossy looking glass. The ribbon supposed to hold her hair in its braid had been lost somewhere amid the bedding, which gave her the opportunity to simply run her fingers through her hair once, so as to better separate the plait. The comb took care of the rest, to her great relief causing her little to no pain.

She then washed and dressed for the day, somewhat careless in her choice of attire. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that the more she tarried, the hungrier she would become. That was the only sign she needed in order to hurry along, removing the bar from the door. She poked her head into the hallway just in time to see one of the servant girls running, with her skirts hiked so very high, there would be quite the reproof for her should the lady of the house see her. The girl must have been thinking along the same lines, for as soon as she took note of Lyanna’s presence she drew to a jerky halt.

“My lady,” the servant girl greeted, gazing at her in an almost guilty fashion.

“Be sure to make no noise when you pass the Maester’s chamber,” Lyanna advised after a moment of silence, retreating back into her own chamber. She closed the door and counted to ten, very slowly, in her mind. A small smile rose upon her lips as she thought back to a similar moment. 

Once more she made her way into the hallway. There were no servants to be seen and no noises to break the stillness. Lyanna made her way to her mother’s chamber where the food had already been laid out. Her lady mother was yet abed, as per instructions received from the Maester, a full trencher in her lap.

“Lady mother,” Lyanna greeted, somewhat surprised that at the slow recovery. “Where is father?” There was only one chair near the table.

“A raven brought word from Benjen. It seems he shall be arriving this day. Your father worries the brewing storm might impede the party’s progress.” As to how his presence would aid with a heavy storm, Lyanna had little notion. “Brandon was supposed to have joined Benjen as well, but it seems he has been delayed.”

“Is that so?” A delayed Brandon could only mean one thing; he’d found something to hold his attention for longer than a few moments, in which case that spelled trouble. Brandon could be uniquely obtuse regarding the troubles he caused whenever his desires clashed with their father’s plans. “I will make sure to keep them all in my prayers. Storms can be vicious.”

Seating herself at the table, Lyanna concentrated on the food. Mother did not seem in the mood for speech and thus prodding for further answers would not serve. All in all, the morning meal brought her as little excitement as she’d anticipated. Word of her brother’s return alleviated some of her moroseness, but she couldn’t help wishing there might be something else to look forward to.

Before she could return to other matters which required her attention, her lady mother further brought down her mood. “The Maester will see you in the library once you are done here. There is a matter I understand he wishes to discuss with you.”

“With me?”The last Maester Walys had wished to speak to her, it had been about spending less time in the stables and more so studying , which her parents had agreed with. The last thing she wanted was to find she had even less time for riding. “I do not see why he would wish to speak to me.”

“You are not in trouble, dearling. The man has something to say to you. It would please me greatly if you went along with it.” She nodded her head for lack of a better solution to her current conundrum. If only she could escape from the chamber. Surely the man would not pursue her in she did not search him out immediately.

 But her mother might. Lyanna bit gently into her lower lip, weighing her options, before she managed to finish her meal. In the end she came to a decision; much as it galled her, she would have to accept the possibility that the Maester would have her cutting back on those activities which she enjoyed. She left her lady mother with her own unfinished meal and made her way to the library where the maester had already prepared a space for himself.

Deep in study, the man missed her arrival. Unable to make out what it was that he pored over with such care, Lyanna closed the distance between them, calling the man’s attention to her. “My lady mother told me you wished to talk.”

Lifting his head from the volumes he’d been studying, Walys Flowers had a soft smile and an answer for her. “Indeed. Apologies, my lady, you caught me by surprise just now.“ Even though he had been expecting her. Lyanna sat down opposite the maester, waiting as he retrieved a piece of parchment. He held it out to her. “You may read it in its entirety.”

She proceeded to do just that. It was enlightening to say the least, albeit she could not see the use in her reading a missive addressed to the maester of the keep. “I do not understand why it is you thought I should see this.”

“Maester Aemon has been with the Night’s Watch since the days of the fifth Aegon. This sudden interest in Winterfell is odd to say the least.” The man followed those words with a shift in his seat. “You do not wonder from whence it has sprung.”

“Why should I?” It was utterly baffling that the man should take issue with so small a thing. “Might be the Prince made mention of the keep and sparked the maester’s interest. I do not see why it matters one way or another.”

“They are kin, you know.” It took her a moment to figure out just what it was the maester referred to. “You are a smart girl, my lady. I know you can piece this together.” The maester of Castle Black was called Aemon, come to think of it. It was not much of a stretch to place him among the dragons running rampant amid the kingdoms. Which begged the question of just how close a relation was between the Prince and his kin.

“You are assuming the interest in Winterfell disguises a desire for some other form of knowledge. But you know, maester, it makes little enough sense to me still. The Prince came to us not but design, but by chance. Surely any worry regarding a scheme is premature.” Beside which, she did not wish to think of Rhaegar Targaryen as a figure bent on playing a game of dominance  in which she and her own were pawns. Much as she knew it to be the way of those in power, she would rather preserve her pleasant memories.

“Not a scheme, per se,” the Southerner offered in a gentle manner. “It cannot have escaped your attention that while the Prince’s stay was of short duration, he and your lord father have had ample discussions on more than one occasion. You have such a suspicious mind, my lady. That is a good thing, but it ought not blind you to other possibilities.”

“If ‘tis not a threat, it need not bother me at all.” Might be her lord father had discussed the issue with the maester and the man simply wished to warn her as to what she was to expected. But why should he do so if there was no threat involved? It drove her to distraction to not have an answer.

“Nay indeed. A threat is at least a known quantity. It is what we don’t know that makes our position weaker.”  He produced a thoughtful sound. “And if we are to foresee as many possibilities as we can, I trust you will agree that we will need to further acquaint ourselves with Southron ambitions and situational mastery.”

This was quite beyond anything she had had in mind when her mother had brought up the maester’s desire to see her. Suspicious though her mind might be, her wits did manage to read into what he implied. “Southron ambitions need not concern me for some years yet. And since I am bound to do as my father wills, it need not necessarily concern me even if I should ally myself to some Southron lord.” Albeit, she hoped her sire might change his mind about the prospective alliance.

“My poor dear, you will be primarily concerned with these matters; that you may be assured of. You must not allow any obvious chinks in your armour if you hope to live a comfortable life.” A comfortable life; Lyanna was not certain what she thought of the concept. Her life, while satisfactory, she would not qualify as lacking dissatisfaction, though perhaps on no large scale. She sighed, doing her best to keep the response unnoticeable.

“I am not certain we are on the same page at all, maester. If my father wishes that I be involved, I suppose I shall force myself to do it. But I should think my life extremely uncomfortable if I were to jump into any such situation headfirst.” She regarded him with great intensity behind her scrutiny. “I know if is my lot in life to wed for the benefit of this house, but surely that is payment enough.”

An amused sort of look appeared on the man’s face. She had the distinct impression that Maester Walys did not take her words to heart. “I will see to it that you are instructed in such matters nonetheless, my lady.” Politics; it was hopeless to argue against his plan. “We are understood on that score.”

“That we are.” She would take the matter up with her lord father. Even if she suspected he would simply add his voice behind the maester’s. But he, at least, might explain the purpose of such a study more clearly. “But might we see to these lessons at a later date> I am promised to my lady mother before noontime.”

“Of course, my lady. We shall discuss the best way to introduce these topics into the time allotted to our lessons.” One had to take the bad with the good, Lyanna supposed, as she abandoned the maester with speed she’d not known herself capable of before. Still and all, motivation made all the difference.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

      

Lyanna loved her brothers, truly she did. But the more she saw of them, the more she became convinced that they would never take her quite as seriously as she wished they might. Case in point, Brandon was doing his best to squeeze the air out of her lungs, while crowing about her supposed victory over a man she knew not at all. “And when did His Grace say he would come back for you, my dear sister?” As the eldest brother, he was entitled to some respect; Lyanna suspected the uncharitable thoughts coursing through her mind did not paint her in a pretty light. At the same time, however, she could not help but wish he would not mock her so.

“He did not,” she replied humourlessly. “But if you wish to take further jabs at me, do not let the knowledge stop you.” That gave Brandon pause. He gave her a long look, his long face more similar to Ned’s in its serious bent.

“Sweet Lya, never say you were invested in such an outcome.” He placed his hands upon her shoulders. “The man would not meet father’s standards.” As to that, it did not concern him. Lyanna told him as much. Which, naturally, was taken as some form of confirmation on her brother’s side. “Well I am truly sorry that I must disabuse you of such notions, but destitute princes are useless in the grand scheme of things and no matter how charmed one is by their manner, it must be remembered that facts are immutable.”

Slack-jawed, Lyanna was not certain whether she wanted to cause him pain more than she wished to have him out of her sight. “Rank hypocrisy does not suit you, brother,” she hissed, low enough that only he might hear. “I will have you know that if I deem the man useful, my word will have weight with father.”

Frost glazed over his usually expressive eyes. “I would not wish to see you hurt by your aspirations, sister; but I fear my long absence has affected you in such a way that this outcome is inevitable. Do not set your cap for Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“Why should I not, if I so wish it? Are you the only one allowed to have father’s ear, then?” She glowered up at him, not minding the presence of others at the other end of the chamber. “I am no less capable of seeing the consequences of my choices, Brandon, even if I haven’t the reach and abundance of choice that you do.”

“My sister will not debase herself by taking on a man who would depend upon the charity and good will of her kin. If you are to have a husband, it shall be a man we can trust with your well-being.” She did not know the Prince. He had been all that was good and kind to her, however, thus she found herself clashing with Brandon upon the matter with some ferocity.

“You have no idea of what constitutes my well-being, so I daresay there is little room for your voice here. Father will see to it that I am well looked after. And His Grace, I will have you know, would meet my approval any day over you.” His face flooded with colour just as he lurched forth. Thankfully for her, Lyanna was as fleet-footed as any prey when facing a predator.

He caught himself the next moment but the damage has already been done. By no means a fool, Lyanna had calculated the words to cut. She had simply not foreseen the strength of his response. Still red-faced, her brother drew himself to full height, towering over her. “You overstep. Have a care that your words do not cut more than your opponent.”

Lyanna bristled. “I am your sister. I will speak truth to you as I see fit.” She could not back down. She would not. “I will not curb my tongue simply to make you comfortable. And I tell you now that while I found the Prince charming both in form and manner, ‘twas not his pretty smile, nor his polished words that won my admiration. You do me a disservice when you disregard each and every ounce of sense I possess. He is a better man than the vast majority of men, you may be assured of that!” The trouble, she realised only after the words were out in the open, was that she had by her own admission put some expectations upon the shoulder of what was, in essence, an unknown quantity. Even worse, her zealous defence of the absent man had not gone unnoticed.     

“And why are brother and sister fighting beneath my roof?” their father’s voice demanded. “Can you children not see that such squabbling is beneath you?”

“I will not keep quiet in the face of my sister’s folly!” Brandon insisted, glancing away from her for but a moment. He mulishly set his jaw in a firm manner.

“I will not be ordered to by an ignorant man, be he my brother even!” she insisted in turn, anger burning bright. “You are not my keeper.”

His second attacked proved more successful than the first, if only because Lyanna was distracted by a deep sigh. When Brandon grasped at one in anger, then one could be assured of a great deal of pain, which pain she did feel rattling her bones as her brother shook her heartily.

It was a good thing that their father intervened physically when he did, or Lyanna feared she might have well gone beyond words with her brother had she been left to her own devices. Liberated from the clutches of her bear of a brother, Lyanna drew behind their father, a low hiss her only response to his continual struggle.

“Brandon, your sister deserves all of your consideration.” As quarrels went, this was not their worst yet. She supposed she ought to come to his rescue.

“My apologies, father. I lost my temper with my brother.” She looked to Brandon with hopes he might follow along.

“And well you should be,” her kin admonished.

The ungrateful brute. She was never coming to his defence again.     

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So basically I decided I'll update this on and off until I am satisfied with the end result. For thought process and explanations you can check this [link](https://discord.gg/aD4NX5g). I know it's gonna de weird, but I want to try this way of story-writing. Hopefully it will cure me ...


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